


Something Strong About Her

by heathtrash



Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)
Genre: Baking, Domestic Fluff, F/F, Fluff, Kissing, Summer Vacation, minor s4 references, post-s4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:20:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25163818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heathtrash/pseuds/heathtrash
Summary: School has broken up for the summer, and Hecate and Dimity are alone at Cackle's taking care of a few loose ends. Hecate decides to treat Dimity for the day.
Relationships: Drill/Hardbroom (Worst Witch)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 35





	Something Strong About Her

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StarryEyedSapphic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarryEyedSapphic/gifts).



> Happy birthday!!
> 
> Title adapted from a line of the song Be Steadwell - Know You.

There was something about the mixing of culinary ingredients that evoked a wealth of feeling in Hecate’s soul. Oftentimes in her potions laboratory, mixing potions could be solitary work—the kind that made Hecate turn inward. Certainly, there was magic, and undeniable usefulness, in the brewing of potions—but baking, to her, brought a sense of connectedness with the world around her, because she knew that it was an experience she could share with those she loved. And when it was for someone she had been helping for months with potions, and now was at a bit of a loose end—it was the perfect way to show that she cared.

Hecate jumped a mile at the sound of the door opening behind her. A cloud of flour rose from the air before her, jolted from the sieve in her hand, and settled over the front of her black cotton apron.

“Hecate! I— I didn’t realise you’d be in here.” 

The sound of Dimity’s voice both calmed and panicked her in equal measures. Dimity stood in the doorway, dressed in a lightweight azure wrap shirtdress with twisted black knots of frog closures on one side. Her sleeves were short for summer, and Hecate admired the curve of her arms strengthened by years of broomstick pull-ups.

“Dimity,” Hecate greeted her, feeling slightly sheepish as she shifted to hide the bowl on the counter. “I did not expect you either.”

“I tend to be hungry in the mornings,” Dimity said with a grin. “Mind if I make some porridge?”

Hecate felt her knees weaken at that smile. “Of course. I— will put on the kettle for you.”

It was summer, and the students had all flown home. There were still a few members of staff left, tidying away things from the end of term. Hecate and Dimity were usually the last to leave, since they both had to stay to take inventory. It gave Hecate the opportunity to enjoy the freedom of the kitchens, she thought as she cast a heating spell over the kettle.

“The covered-in-flour look is really working for you, by the way,” Dimity said wryly, side-eyeing Hecate’s floury apron as she took some oats and a saucepan from the school kitchen cabinet.

“Oh—” Hecate glanced down at herself and her ears turned pink as the water in the kettle began to rumble. “That was an unintentional addition to my ensemble.”

As Hecate summoned Dimity’s favourite stoneware mug from the cupboard, Dimity spoke again. “So— you’re baking? At this time of day?”

Hecate nodded, and began to pour Dimity some coffee. “It was meant to be a surprise. I suppose the flour gave me away.”

“That, and the mixing bowl you’re attempting to hide, very badly,” Dimity chuckled. “But what’s the surprise for? It’s not my birthday. Oh—” Dimity paled, and her hand froze mid-air as she made to pour milk over the oats. “There isn’t an anniversary I’ve forgotten, is there?”

“No— no, of course not,” Hecate murmured, her hand playing with the chain of her pocket watch. “It was merely— something for later. I thought we could— go on a day trip. If you like.”

“Oh— that sounds lovely, but— I haven’t finished my stock-taking.” Dimity sighed, stirring the saucepan. “And I should probably do that. Or even start it.”

“Remarkably responsible of you,” Hecate commented, her mouth twitching with a barely disguised smile. She bore the mug of coffee to Dimity, and handed it to her. Hecate’s hand lingered over Dimity’s. “But you need not worry about that. I completed it for you, so you would be free today.”

“But— you must have stayed up _all night_!” Dimity protested, eyes wide in disbelief.

“Not quite.” Hecate said airily, retracting her hand. “I slept.”

Dimity gave her a look that told her she did not believe her in the slightest. “Thank you. Even though you’re in trouble for sacrificing sleep over me.”

Hecate continued to sieve flour into the bowl, amused by her private thought that it would not have been the first time she had sacrificed sleep over Dimity Drill. “I think our trip will be worth the loss of some sleep.”

Dimity settled down on one of the kitchen stools with her coffee and porridge, watching Hecate with intrigue from across the room as she mixed the batter. Dimity had asked what she was baking, but Hecate was being secretive, to her irritation.

“Well, I can plainly see you grating carrots,” Dimity remarked. “So it couldn’t possibly be a carrot cake.”

Dimity never missed a beat. “Not a chance,” she returned, with a guilty smile.

While the cake was in the oven, where it could start the strange alchemical process of transforming from wet batter into delicious, pillowy soft cake—Hecate busied herself with tidying up the kitchen, including Dimity’s porridge saucepan, animating the scrubbing brush to assist her in the sink while she wiped down the surfaces with a sweep of magic from her long fingers.

“It will be some time,” Hecate said when she had finished. Dimity made to clear away her porridge bowl, but Hecate stopped her with a hand to her arm.

“My magical muscle injury has much better now for months, Hecate. You don’t have to wait on me all the time, you know.”

“Let me spoil you,” Hecate murmured, kissing her cheek softly. Dimity’s injury flare-up had passed enough that she no longer had to use her cane, but Hecate hardly wanted to take the risk and let Dimity overexert herself. Hecate had tried to ease her pain with salves and potions—but there had been very little to improve the situation but prescribed rest.

“You work too hard. Has anyone ever told you that?” Dimity rolled her eyes, even though Hecate could see a spark in them beneath her eyelashes.

“You remind me daily.”

* * *

While the cake was baking, Hecate and Dimity prepared some food for their lunch—“Witches cannot survive on cake alone,” Hecate had told her. Dimity insisted upon helping, and Hecate permitted her, after some coaxing, to let her make some sandwiches.

“Mini quiches, though? I’m still not convinced,” Dimity raised her eyebrows as Hecate, sleeves rolled up above her elbows, rubbed butter into flour for the pastry.

“They are an efficient and healthy source of nutrition. And yes—I will make sure they are not _all_ mushroom,” Hecate sniffed as she anticipated Dimity’s next comment.

“My hero,” Dimity teased her, bumping her gently with her hip. “I know mushrooms are supposed to be one of the witchiest foods, but—”

“It is not a requirement of being a witch to like mushrooms,” Hecate cut in. “You are perfectly within your rights to prefer other foods.”

The cake was soon due to come out. Hecate had been frequently consulting her pocket watch for the time, anxious not to let the cake burn. She wanted everything to be perfect for Dimity. She levitated the tin out of the oven to check that it was done. An inserted skewer told her that it needed a few more minutes, so she covered it with some foil and returned it to the oven to keep the top from darkening too much. 

“You haven’t told me where we’re going later,” Dimity said, coming up behind Hecate and smoothing her hands over Hecate’s hips.

Hecate felt herself weaken at Dimity’s touch. “Nowhere special,” she replied, trying to keep her voice even. Although they had been together for a few years now, Hecate still found herself swooning at Dimity’s gentle intimacies, and let her body be cradled in Dimity’s strong arms.

“Everywhere’s special with you,” Dimity returned, suppressing a laugh at her own cheesy line.

Hecate could only attempt at a pretence of exasperation at Dimity’s words—the truth was that she was still taken aback by the fact that this gorgeous woman wanted to be with _her_. Dimity cared about her—loved her, even. They had spent such a long time playfully bantering with each other as colleagues, and it had not been until Hecate had caressed her face with a rose under the influence of the Personality Changing Potion that she had noticed how Dimity had blushed when she returned to her usual self. 

She opened the oven, grateful for the way that the burst of heat provided some explanation for her own flushed face. The tin hovered out of the oven and settled on the stove top. Using her magic to peel the foil back, she tried the skewer again. It came out clean, so Hecate extinguished the oven with a dismissing flick of her hand.

“It smells so good,” Dimity said, bending over the loaf tin and inhaling the spiced aroma.

“Later,” Hecate reminded her, and turned her gently until they were facing. “For now, you might have to make do with this.” 

Hecate pressed a kiss to Dimity’s lips, and Dimity responded by melting in her embrace, muscles relaxing under Hecate’s hands as she traced them over her shoulders.

“I suppose that will do—for now,” Dimity said, with a facetious quirk of her eyebrow.

* * *

With their picnic packed away in a hamper, Hecate and Dimity set out for their destination. It was an hour’s flight, which Hecate had rather wanted to avoid taking—but Dimity assured her that she was fine and that this would be a good test of her strength. It would be her first long journey since her injury had flared up again, and Hecate was concerned that it would be too much for Dimity, particularly since they had a day of activity ahead, but she knew that Dimity needed this for herself.

They mounted their brooms—Hecate securing the hamper to her own broomstick out of stubbornness—and rose smoothly into the pleasant summer air. The castle fell beneath them, until the blades of grass became too small to make out. The view over the valleys below the mountain was stunning, with the angle of the mid-morning sunlight picking out the silvery snake of a river leading to a lake beyond the shadow of a hill.

Hecate led the way due north, and Dimity followed on, a safe distance from her. Hecate would have suggested sharing a broomstick, as they had done often, but for such a long flight it was more comfortable not to fly double. She kept looking over at Dimity to ensure that she was not having any trouble—it had nothing to do with admiring the posture and command that Dimity had on a broom. She had been crowned Star of the Sky for good reason. 

It was always strange seeing the towns below nestled in the valleys. Hecate normally felt completely detached from the Ordinary world in their part of Britain, but she was now surprised to be confronted with the sight of traffic beneath them driving up through Ambleside from Windermere. Cackle’s certainly was in a bubble of its own.

Hecate thought that she could detect Dimity’s energy start to wane over the course of the flight, but on catching her eye across the lightly clouded sky over Scafell Pike, Dimity gave her one of her broad grins and a wink that made Hecate’s broomstick wobble.

Hecate kept careful watch over the topography, and when they finally were close enough to start their descent, signalled to Dimity. She could identify some of the mountains surrounding Buttermere as they flew lower over them—Green Gable, Fleetwith Pike, and Haystacks—until they were low enough to puzzle the sheep in the fields beneath them who could feel the tailwind of their broomsticks but not see the cause of the disturbance, owing to the enchantment upon their brooms.

They touched down beside the lake by a patch of bright yellow gorse, a stone’s throw from the water’s edge. There was a group of hikers nearby—Hecate could tell them by their colourful anoraks slung over rucksacks and walking boots—but none of them noticed as she and Dimity vanished their broomsticks and became gradually visible to Ordinary eyes.

Looking back whence they had flown, the bumpy crag of Haystacks was dark against the sky, while a shaft of light fell upon one face of Fleetwith Pike in shades of green and brown. The reflection in the surface of the lake was crystal clear—a perfect mirror for the mountains and the bowl of the sky.

“It’s beautiful,” Dimity breathed.

“It seemed like a good day for this walk,” Hecate said, slipping her hand into Dimity’s and squeezing. “Are you ready, or would you like to pause for a bit?”

“Let’s continue on and find a nice spot for lunch.”

* * *

A thicket of Scots pines sloped up the hillside from the path, while the lake glimmered brightly with sunlight beside them on their left. The bank broke sharply away to a small pebbly shore, with tree roots reaching out into the stones in search of water. It was sheltered from the sun—and seemed like a wonderful place for their picnic by the calm water, where the stresses of term time seemed a world away.

Dimity offered Hecate a hand down to the shore, which she gratefully accepted. It was quiet—there was no sign of the earlier group of Ordinaries, and they had encountered no one else. The water barely lapped at the shore, it was so still. Hecate would have preferred a breeze, but it made the view all the better, even if it was a little too warm. She had shed her light summer flying cloak already, and it lay folded neatly over the hamper.

Neither of them fancied sitting on the stones, so between them they conjured picnic table, upon which they began to arrange all the dishes they had brought. A preservation spell had kept everything fresh as the moment it was prepared. Dimity declared the mini quiches “adequate—well, I admit, more than adequate. Delicious, if I’m being more honest than I should be. It’s still a ridiculous piece of food, though.” Hecate was pleased, as Dimity was a good judge of flavour, and she was nothing but complimentary of all the foods Hecate had brought in the hamper.

Hecate poured them both some more tea. “Would you like some cake?”

“I’ve been waiting for it all day,” Dimity said, eyeing the wrapped loaf ravenously.

Hecate cut them each a slice of cake—she hoped dearly that it had turned out to be acceptable. Hecate sampled a little with her cake fork—the outside had a satisfyingly crisp crust, while the crumb inside was tender. Flecks of stem ginger burst through over the blend of spices—Hecate was not disappointed in the recipe. 

“Do you like it?”

Dimity nodded wholeheartedly. “This is very good—maybe _almost_ as good as Granny’s.”

“I shall take that as a compliment,” Hecate responded, smiling to herself.

“You should. I don’t normally compare anyone’s baking to Granny’s.” Dimity kissed Hecate’s cheek. “You have a real gift in the kitchen. It’s a good thing, too, because I can barely butter bread.”

“Is there a secret family recipe?” Hecate asked, her cheek glowing with the praise she felt she did not deserve, and where Dimity had kissed it.

“It’s not really a secret,” Dimity shrugged. “But I’ll have to share it with you. I once tried to make it, but— well, you’ve had one of my cakes before.”

“Yes,” Hecate smirked at the fond memory of when Dimity had tried to bake her a birthday cake—which she had done as soon as she had discovered the date of Hecate’s birthday—and it had turned out quite awfully. It was a kind gesture, even if it was entirely inedible. “I could teach you how to bake, if you would like.”

“And deprive you of the joy of cooking for me?”

Hecate had to confess that Dimity was right.

They spent some time digesting by the water side—after which Dimity persuaded Hecate to join her in paddling in the shallow water at the side of the lake. Hecate removed her boots and stockings, hitched up her skirt somewhat to expose her sunlight-deprived calves, and stepped into the cool, clear water. It was much colder than she had anticipated, and she gave an undignified squeak of shock. Dimity laughed, and splashed over to her, drawing her further into the water. 

“Isn’t it refreshing?”

“ _Bracing_ is the word I would use.” 

Yet, her grumbling was stopped with a kiss. She felt herself relax into Dimity’s arms, temporarily forgetting that she had feet—and that they were presently cold—in the moment Dimity parted her lips with her own. The dancing of the water around her ankles was a mere distraction from the bliss of Dimity holding her—brushing their lips together—stroking her fingertips against Dimity’s collarbone—until a numbness creeping up her legs told her that her muscles were starting to seize up.

“Maybe it is a bit cold,” Dimity agreed, as they parted.

“I did tell you,” Hecate ribbed her gently.

* * *

After they enjoyed a gentle walk around the lake, listening to the sounds of summer and gathering the odd sprig of herbs, Hecate had one more surprise for Dimity. They mounted their brooms, and headed up into the mountains west of Buttermere. Following a brook cascading down the craggy face in frothy waterfalls, breaking over rocks and the odd tree that had decided to defy gravity, they ascended into the shadow, far from the prying eyes of Ordinaries—Hecate could feel as they crossed a magic barrier that was designed to maintain privacy from those who were not in possession of magical ability.

They soon came to what looked like a ramshackle cottage—and alighted just outside a mossy stone wall. The tumbledown appearance was the work of an illusion, and dissipated when Hecate spoke a command word. Dimity looked between Hecate and the cottage in puzzlement.

“This is the home of Mistress Laverne Twigspindle, of whom I am sure you are well—”

“—Hecate!” Dimity squeaked, eyes staring in shock at Hecate. “Does she know we’re here? We’re not just dropping in completely unannounced, right?”

Hecate touched Dimity’s upper arm in what she hoped was a soothing manner. “I contacted her to ensure that our arrival would be acceptable. She wrote to me to confirm, and suggested that you might like a workshop on broom crafting.”

“She’s only _one of the most famous broomstick craftswitches of the modern age_! And she’s going to teach me to make a broom? What am I even wearing? Do I look— you know— do I look cool?”

“I’m not sure that I am the best judge of what is considered ‘cool’,” Hecate said, stroking Dimity’s arm with her fingertips. She had not seen Dimity this nervous since their first official date. “But I can tell you in all confidence that you look gorgeous.”

Dimity let out a slow breath, and adopted a determined expression—what Hecate knew as her ‘game face’. “Right, I’m ready.”

Mistress Twigspindle answered the door as soon as Dimity knocked. She had streaks of white hair spiralling through the dense curls pinned into an imperfect bun at her nape, and her gently lined face lit up in delight as she greeted the two witches on her doorstep.

Hecate let Dimity take everything in—from the tools of the craft hanging on the wall, to the cases of artisanal broomsticks—and smiled in pride as Mistress Twigspindle fawned over Dimity’s performances in the Witch World Games and her success as Star of the Sky. With Dimity’s ego satisfied, she settled into a much more relaxed mode, and lost her self-consciousness to unbound excitement.

Hecate observed quietly as Dimity threw herself into carving her own broomstick handle from timber that Mistress Twigspindle had gathered from the surrounding countryside. Dimity of course knew how to make broomsticks, as did every witch worth her salt—but this was a masterclass in broomstick crafting. While Hecate was not physically participating—this was largely for Dimity’s benefit, and she preferred to watch—she saw that the techniques were much more complicated than the instruction she had received as a young witch. The binding of the bristles and herbs into the tail was of particular interest, and Hecate made notes on the way that Mistress Twigspindle used a tapestry needle to embellish the binding with decorative spell threading. Dimity was thrilled to try out the broomstick she constructed—it had not been as wholly successful as Mistress Twigspindle’s example, but flew far more true than most homemade broomsticks that Hecate had seen over the years. All the arrangements had been worthwhile to see Dimity proudly showing her hero all her efforts, and receiving the praise for her accomplishments that she so thoroughly deserved.

* * *

“Home at last,” Dimity sighed, collapsing onto the sofa in Hecate’s chambers. It did not quite have the requisite give to soften such a fall, and Hecate winced on Dimity’s behalf at what must have been a hard drop. “You really should get a softer sofa. Maybe a cushion wouldn’t hurt.”

Hecate sat next to her gracefully, grateful to have a chance to let go of the day’s tension that had built up from trying to maintain her posture for so long. The evening was drawing in now—the sun was low on the horizon, filtering in through the window and inching across the wall over Hecate’s sparsely decorated sitting room. “I shall bear that in mind. Did you have a pleasant day? I apologise that it was quite demanding.”

“It was wonderful! Even without seeing _the actual Mistress Laverne Twigspindle_. I had no idea she lived so close to us here!”

“Ada assisted in making the connection with her,” Hecate replied. “She prefers a quieter life in her semi-retirement, but— makes exceptions sometimes.” Hecate was about to make some playful comment about Dimity’s fangirling, but then realised that she herself lacked the energy for wit. Perhaps the mere two hours of sleep she had had that night were starting to catch up with her. She leaned her head on Dimity’s shoulder.

“It was great to get out of the castle with you. I just wish we could do it more often.”

Dimity must have noticed how tired Hecate was, for she began to ease Hecate’s head down into her lap. The pressure on her scalp began to ease as Dimity slipped the hairpins from her bun and let her hair loose. A sigh escaped her lips as Dimity’s fingers played through her hair. 

The next thing Hecate knew, Dimity’s strong arms cradled under her recumbent form, and lifted her from the sofa with effortless ease. She looked sleepily up at Dimity and snuggled into her, feeling her sitting room spin around her as if in a dream, and then letting her eyes close under the weight of her eyelids.

Barely half-awake, Hecate became aware that her body was now received by a softness from all around—she supposed she was now in her own bed—and the stiff dress she wore had been replaced by the loose silken folds of her pyjamas. She felt the gentle shift in weight on the duvet as Morgana and Arcana’s small, sleek forms hopped up at the foot of the bed and tucked in close to each other, twining their tails together on top of Dimity’s floral quilt that had found its home in Hecate’s chambers at one point or another. Dimity climbed into bed beside her, comfortingly close.

“Thank you for today,” Dimity whispered to her, and her warm hand reached out for Hecate’s under the duvet and closed over her fingers reassuringly. “I really love you, you know?” Hecate responded with a weak squeeze. 

“I love you too,” Hecate murmured, unable to fight the drowsiness overcoming her eyelids. Her cheek sank down into the cool linen sheets. A kiss pressed against the back of her hand—the last thing Hecate felt before she slipped into slumber.


End file.
